If I could write a book, what would I say? I would not talk about having a sore throat or a cough, or a depressed cat. I would write about sunshine, but not the hot kind that makes your skin burn, or my heat overheat and stop processing sentences of longer than eight words.I don't have anything much to say. My father's tiny stroke was a rehearsal, a tryout of the survival mechanisms we have in place. I did all right, I don't think my mother did. There are ladybirds in the sunshine out there. Since I have a cold, I don't feel like eating very much. It's all about texture, which is touch and hearing rather than taste or smell. Sight doesn't seem to make much difference. I would like to finish at leas tone side of Alice's tea cosy. Make one for Deb and for my parents (that one is entirely a thing about self indulgence). I am not going to lab today, but it is not a big fat statement. More of a being cautious; I AM REALLY TIRED OF HAVING THIS COLD. And I am still feeling tired and like I don't want loud noises. ANd it is entirely unfair of me to want Dick to notice that I am not there. Can I even separate the sane from the insane, there? I think so. And soon I shall go downstairs and let the kittens out and eat something, but I seem to be trying to write a page first.
This would be my thirty-first wedding anniversary. We have been split for about twelve years. I really do not have a page of not very much to say. Christmas is coming entirely too fast this year. I would like to make people things they would actually like, but it's impossible, particularly when they have enough socks already. Willow actually seems quite happy. She is rolling in the sun. Having a much greyer tabby around makes her brownness show up much more, makes her exotic.
I figure when I am better it will not seem like too much trouble to go to the store, or to bake, or to find complex food. At least I am feeling perky enough that I want to wear my glasses. Perhaps if I concentrate on one or two things I shall actually get them done. And certainly dividing them all into small pieces makes this likelier. The only trouble is the very large number of very small pieces. To do next: brush hair. And teeth. Eat. See if it's warm on the glass porch. Find out what's going on on the 9155 credit card. Maybe put one of those Tibetan clouds into the sky, or two suns, or at least bead the milkweed we already have. Tonight, watch Castle with Doug. I may go to the grocery store. Do something with the runes.The day will go by much too fast to take seriously. Five hundred words is not very much, but I wonder how long it will take me to do them? And whether that matters, when it does not. I don't want to spend too much time thinking and writing about yearning. Simple declarative sentences!
This would be my thirty-first wedding anniversary. We have been split for about twelve years. I really do not have a page of not very much to say. Christmas is coming entirely too fast this year. I would like to make people things they would actually like, but it's impossible, particularly when they have enough socks already. Willow actually seems quite happy. She is rolling in the sun. Having a much greyer tabby around makes her brownness show up much more, makes her exotic.
I figure when I am better it will not seem like too much trouble to go to the store, or to bake, or to find complex food. At least I am feeling perky enough that I want to wear my glasses. Perhaps if I concentrate on one or two things I shall actually get them done. And certainly dividing them all into small pieces makes this likelier. The only trouble is the very large number of very small pieces. To do next: brush hair. And teeth. Eat. See if it's warm on the glass porch. Find out what's going on on the 9155 credit card. Maybe put one of those Tibetan clouds into the sky, or two suns, or at least bead the milkweed we already have. Tonight, watch Castle with Doug. I may go to the grocery store. Do something with the runes.The day will go by much too fast to take seriously. Five hundred words is not very much, but I wonder how long it will take me to do them? And whether that matters, when it does not. I don't want to spend too much time thinking and writing about yearning. Simple declarative sentences!
